


The Double Coup

by sawyerslibrary



Category: Eddsworld - All Media Types
Genre: AU, redemption probably
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-28
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2020-02-09 10:07:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18635977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sawyerslibrary/pseuds/sawyerslibrary
Summary: Tord and the boys go on an adventure that will force them to face the worst versions of themselves, spend far too much time at the pub, and generally have a terrible time.When the Red Army falls apart, all that's left for Tord is his old friends. What he doesn't know is that in a world where he's far more successful, he sets his sights beyond the planet.





	1. Chapter One

Ouch.

“Red Leader, what are you doing?!”

Oh my God, shut up.

“It’s been too long Paul. I’m not an invalid.” He cringed as he said those words, and his teeth nearly lost the grip they had on the IV. 

“It’s only been three days,” Paul admonished, rushing over and pushing Tord back down towards the crisp white hospital pillow. 

“Don’t you dare challenge your superior. I could have you put to death-“

“Look what you’ve done, you’re bleeding everywhere!” Paul didn’t even have the decency to look threatened. “Stay here, okay? I’m just going to get to doctor. You need to heal!”

Tord was already out of breath. This was just embarrassing. Paul had never bested him in a fight, not since he had been recruited all those years ago. The man was a master of combat, and the head of all military operations within the army, but he would always be second to Tord. It wasn’t feasible that Paul could best him single-handedly.

Single-handedly, he thought. How ironic. 

“Ugh.” Couldn’t take over the world, couldn’t fool three people, couldn’t even escape from the watch of his own commanders. He felt like walking in front of an ice cream truck, and then making the driver run over him repeatedly. He felt like drowning himself in ice cream. Encasing himself in it and slowly realising he couldn’t lick himself out of this one.

Wow, maybe he wanted ice cream.

“You seem a little distracted. A little tense,” Dr. Peters had said. At the time, Tord had had the man flogged, but maybe there was a point to it. Trauma, the psychiatrist had said, can do a lot to the psyche, and it can take a while to bounce back. 

Nah, that’s ridiculous, Tord thought.

“I’m as strong as ever.” 

Great, now he was talking to himself, on top of everything else. 

Absentmindedly, he watched his own blood run down the bed and into the carpet, creating an ever larger stain on the otherwise boring beige fibers. How he wished that was Tom’s blood. 

Paul was right. Tord needed to heal and recuperate, and then, and only then, would he exact the revenge his enemy deserved. 

Speaking (thinking) of Paul, where was he?

A shout from down the corridor: “Surrender your leader!”

Immediately, his military instincts kicked in. With strength he didn’t know he had, he hobbled over to the door and collapsed against it. Was that a gunshot? Shit. A multitude of voices carried through the walls, and that promised the worst; the hospital was usually empty apart from one or two nurses. This was either a mutiny or an enemy combatant, and if they’d got this far it meant his army, as he knew it, was destroyed.

Tord had to think fast. There were two ways out of this room, the door or the window. The fact that his enemies were on the other side of the door was quickly ruling that option out.

However, the fact that he was eight stories up, high off his face on pain medication, bleeding, burnt, and had only one arm to climb down with (don’t think about that, Tord) wasn’t exactly making the window a desirable option either.

Think! There had to be something else. That’s your specialty, he thought. You’re here because you think outside of the box, and that’s exactly what this situation calls for.

The third option, which wasn’t even feasible, was to face this army himself.

Tord glanced at his bedside table. A gun he couldn’t work with one hand. Pointless even being there. A prototype on a prosthesis he’d been building for the past few days. Unfinished. His mobile. Useless, all his colleagues were likely dead, and in enemy custody if not.

Unless.

The first four times Tord tried to walk over to the table, he fell over. You know, centre of gravity and all that. The fifth, he collapsed back onto the bed and then rolled over behind it as soon as he had grabbed the phone.

Wow, this was new levels of stupid.

The line was quiet, then one ring. Two rings, three.

“Tord? You’re not dead?”

“You can still fly, yes? If I tell you an address, will you come?”

Edd sounded exhausted.

“And why would I ever-“

“I will tell you everything. All I ever hid from the three of you, all you suspected and more.”

“I don’t-“

“Sixteen Priory Road. It’s to your north, in Hastrington. See you soon.”

“Why are you whisper-“. Tord hung up.

Would Edd come? Tord had no idea. Managing to get somebody to save your life less than a week after destroying theirs seemed above even Tord’s powers of manipulation, but he supposed it was his only option.

One minute later, Tord would belatedly realise that he had never specified which floor he was on, but by then, of course, he was pinned to the floor by the last person he ever expected to move against him.

It really just wasn’t his week.

“No hard feelings, hey? It’s just business.”

“You traitorous-“

Tord’s realisation that he had been hit over the head took an entire hour, during which he mostly dreamt about being at the very tip of the Eiffel Tower and trying to keep his balance while juggling three spoons, a cat and a dwarf. Juggling, mind you, is very difficult, so this kept him preoccupied for a while.

-*-

“Why is he burnt?”

“I think that’s probably from the explosion, Matt.”

“Oh. Why is he staring at me?”

“That’s probably because you’re ugly and he’s a rude commie bastard.” Tom sounded begrudged, as usual. “Wait, he’s awake?”

Tord blinked. He was? When was he asleep? Matt watched him, half concerned and half frightened, as he scanned the room. An apartment, bright colours, a neon poster advertisement for cola- undeniably Edd’s. Something was playing on the television that looked quite interesting (it certainly had a catchy theme tune), but unfortunately, someone was stood in front of it, fists clenched and glaring. Ish. It was always hard to tell with T-

His mind blanked for a second.

Oh yeah. 

Tom was here.

“You going to lie to us again? Tell us you’re sorry for killing Jon?! You’re a murderous, bloodthirsty, scheming-“

Edd rushed in to hold Tom back before he could get any closer. It was quite a funny picture really, because when Tom was angry he turned very red, and right now Tom was beetroot. Naturally, Tord loved to evoke this kind of reaction from his enemy, but the delicate situation right now meant it was paramount that he didn’t laugh. 

He also PROBABLY shouldn’t ask who Jon was.

“Tom, I know he’s hurt us. But the deal was that if we rescued him, he would answer our questions.” Edd walked up and crouched down next to the sofa, which wasn’t a particularly comfy one, before you ask. “And you will answer our questions, or I’ll let Tom do whatever he wants to you.” There was a kind of hardness in Edd’s eyes that Tord hadn’t seen there before, the kind that would make him perfect to recruit into the army.

If Tord had one. 

“What’s the matter, Tord? Cat got your tongue?” 

“A little insensitive, don’t you think? For all you know, your explosion blew my tongue off, as well as my arm.” Tord couldn’t resist and watched Tom closely as the guilt appeared on his face, quickly replaced with anger.

“I wouldn’t have to have blown you up if you didn’t bomb the house!”

“Tom, he’s trying to get a rise out of you. It was a moot point anyway, we talked on the phone. And just now. And have you ever heard of someone’s tongue being blown off?” Damn, Edd was good. Tord pushed himself into an upright position, sticking his tongue out at Tom as he did so.

“If we’re starting questions, I have one!” Matt walked over and pointed at Tord. “Who is he! I’m still not entirely sure and he just keeps coming back, so any information would be helpful!”

Sighing, Tord said, “My name is Tord Larsson. I used to live here and when I left you accidentally wiped all your memories with my memory eraser gun. But I’m sure we’ve been over all of this already. I have a question-“

“You don’t get questions!” Tord narrowed his eyes. Well, eye, but whatever. 

“Tom’s right, that wasn’t part of the deal. We’re the ones in charge here.” Edd stayed calm and spoke slowly, now sat on the floor about a metre away. “Tell us about your army.”

“My army?” Tord snorted. “I lost their cooperation as soon as I went back for the robot. They thought me too big of a dreamer. I wanted Russia, the world, and the rest of them wouldn’t even look past the border countries. What would conquering Sweden ever achieve?”

“You ever consider not conquering any countries?”

“Hmm, let’s think about it… no.”

Tord didn’t say that. He wanted to.

Think. What’s going to make them like you enough to not kill you? 

“It’s not me you have to argue with on that point. It’s my employers.”

“Hmm?” Suddenly, Edd was intrigued. For someone with such leadership qualities (maybe he’d have even reached lieutenant), he sure was a buffoon.

“You think I conquer countries for fun? You think I enjoy marching into Ghana, killing half its civilians and imprisoning the rest? At first, it was a new experience, at least. Now it’s as boring as a moldy shoe.”

“Nice simile, shithead.” If Tom had eyes, he’d be rolling them out of his head.

“Norwegian idiom.” It wasn’t. It was the concussion, but he wasn’t about to tell them that. They’d use that to their advantage.

“Cut to the chase, Tord. Who employs you?”

“Employed. And I have no idea. All I know is at the end of every month, they deposited ten million pounds into my bank account, that I used for scientific research.”

Plausible.

Matt looked confused. Maybe he’d never passed GCSE science. Or even primary school science. That, too, Tord thought, was entirely likely.

“What kind of scientific research,” he asked.

“Monsters, time machines, teleportation.” 

“You’re telling us,” Edd spoke, eyebrows raised, “that you’re just a humble scientist who has been forced to crime to fund his research?”

“Well.” Well, no, that was a complete lie, because Tord had grown up with crime from a young age. They weren’t to know that though, because they hadn’t asked him, and right now he wasn’t about to tell them, because this perspective definitely placed him in a more sympathetic light. “I have reasons for the research I conduct. I can make everything right, but that requires funding, and funding requires work, and the highest paid work just happens to be illegal in the eyes of the law.”

Everything was screaming, now the adrenaline and, particularly, the pain killers, had worn off. Tord was more tired than he had ever been, and the world was fuzzing in from the edges. He couldn’t keep his eyes open.

“Make everything right? What’s that meant to mean?”

“Let me ask a question and I may tell you.”

Edd cracked, his eyes lighting up with annoyance.

“I know,” Tord filled in quickly, racing for time, because unconsciousness was coming fast, and he had to know. “I’m aware this was not part of the deal. But it’s not like I’m leaving any time soon. So how did you get me out of there?”

The three glanced at each other.

“That was quite easy, actually,” Matt said, confusion clear on his face. “Nobody was in the entire building but you.”

“What? They just left me to-?” To die, Tord thought, but he didn’t, couldn’t finish the thought. It would have worked, too. Tord shuddered at the thought, and immediately regretted it. “Nobody? At all?”

“No,” said Edd, frowning. 

“M…” Why wasn’t his mouth working? Was he concussed?

His breathing sped up, and his heart raced until he could hear it.

“Matt, you better call that doctor you know. We can’t take him to a hospital.” Matt knows people other than the core group?

“On it!”

“Why can’t we? Edd, we need to let them arrest him, so he can’t do this to anybody else! …unless you’re planning to let me kill him? Are you? Please say yes.”

“No, Tom! We can’t let him die, but we can’t let him be arrested either. We need to get to the bottom of this…”

Tord wasn’t sure when he’d shut his eyes, but he was drifting. No. Forcing himself to drift. Back to the Eiffel Tower it was. At least, up there, there wouldn’t be this pulling in his stomach, this lump in the back of his throat. Diagnosis, panic, self-hatred, mild guilt. Where did that come from?

Tom could eat a sock.

And choke on it.

“…after all Tom, he’s still our friend.”


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> appears to be my first a level exam tomorrow. hmm. lets finish this chapter instead!

The doctor was suitably annoyed, and nearly forced Edd to call an ambulance on the spot, but in the end, they managed to persuade him to change Tord’s bandages and paid him by promising that the next time they went to Reading Festival they’d give him their wristband for at least one of the days. Which was great really, because Edd was broke, and who went for all three days anyway?

“Hey, uh, you need to renew your Costco membership. That card is expired.”

Speaking of money.

“Oh, how much for a new one?” Edd had one twenty-pound note, three ten pence coins and half a stick of gum. Some of that needed to go toward buying antibiotics, and for some reason Edd expected those to be expensive.

“It’s twenty.”

“Pence?”

“…pounds.” Shit. Looked like a one hundred and eighty was in order. Scarper, Edd. The reason he’d come to Costco, he reflected as he walked over the road to the store opposite, wasn’t that it was much cheaper. Nope. He was just so damn sentimental.

It had been the first day of year seven, and Edd had just moved house, which meant that he knew nobody in this new area. Of course, there were already cliques; everyone had moved up from the same local primary school, or knew each other from football, or rugby, or whatever. So by the time he’d reached the lunch hall after first lesson, there was one empty table, with one chair. 

Joy.

Edd sighed and took out his lunch. If nothing else, he knew food could occupy him, and perhaps for a whole half hour if he savoured it, bit each piece as though he were a rabbit, small as he felt in this giant hall. Pizza, check. Garlic, the best flavour, no matter what anyone else thought. Yogurt, disgusting but bearable. His mum thought it was healthy. Bones are important when you’re young.

And the crowning glory of his lunchbox, the glittering diamond in the corner, stuffed in several layers of kitchen roll and mother’s love: the Costco carrot cake. Happiness in a cake. Moist, delicious, carroty, perfect-

“Are you drooling?”

He froze. Edd had seen Mean Girls- if someone mocked you in the dining hall, it had to be a jock, and so he had to prepare quick. Impress the jocks and infiltrate them. Comeback, comeback, comeback, come on!

“..not as much as you, dickface!” Wow, nice one Edd.

Immediately blushing with embarrassment, he watched as the guy’s brow furrowed. Was that judgement? Well, at least he wasn’t laughing. Which one was worse was up to your perspective, Edd supposed.

From his perspective, he was drowning. The boy wasn’t even a jock! They don’t even have those in England!

You’re stupid! Nobody will ever befriend you now!

“Is that an idiom?”

Edd wouldn’t even befriend himself. He wondered if it was too soon into the school year to drop out and transfer. Or is it better to do it sooner?

“And is that cake?”

Cake? Huh? When Edd calmed down enough to notice his surroundings again, he was surprised to see a skinny, dark haired boy sat on the table, cake in mouth and eyes widening.

“That is amazing! What is it? Carrot? That is the most amazing carrot cake I have ever eaten!”

“That’s. That’s my-“

“Do you have more of this at your house? Can I visit? What is your name? Mine is Tord.”

Once Edd had gotten over Tord’s theft, it had turned out they had a lot in common. Like Edd, Tord had just moved to the area, all the way from Norway, in fact. He shared Edd’s love of art and animation, and even bad zombie movies. Often, they’d spend the entire night playing video games and chatting, giggling at each other.

For some reason, they never met up at Tord’s house. Tord said he didn’t have the new XBox like Edd did, or that his neighbours were loud, or that there was a rat infestation and the rats had rabies and that Tord was immune to it but Edd surely wouldn’t be and would surely suffer greatly if he risked a visit.

He always spoke formally, like that.

But he got better at lying. Lying to the point where when he left, the first time, Edd had no idea of the reason. Maybe, he’d thought, it had been a fall out with Tom. Or he had newer, more interesting friends. That one hurt.

But not this, never this.

The supermarket was a nightmare, busy as usual. Edd tried to skip the cake aisle, but when he passed the apple tarts, he simply had to buy one for Tord, even if every inch of his brain screamed at him not to. He had hoped last time, and it had amounted in nothing. 

Last time, though, there hadn’t been apple tarts. Carrot cake was Tord’s favourite, but this was an attempt at least. Something to narrow the chasm between them.

-*-

“Diet Smirnoff doesn’t exist, you know.”

“…what!” Tom hadn’t been aware, apparently, that Tord was awake. It delighted Tord to see him nearly jump out of his skin.

“Your shirt. ‘Ban Diet Smirnoff.’ What’s to ban? It’s vodka, there’s no sugar in it.”

“I.” Tom stopped fiddling with the television to glare at Tord. Spooky! “Why should I have to explain myself to you?” Restraint was visible in the way his fingernails dug into his palms.

Tord should stop.

“What, do you sugar it yourself?” Was that a verb? “Or, wait. Is it ironic? Because I really don’t get it.”

“You dare to speak to me after all you’ve done, you-“

“Tom!” Edd was at the door, disappointment on his face and plastic bags in hand. “You don’t shout at guests!”

“I thought he was a captive!”

“…still! He won’t tell us anything if he’s scared.”

Psh. Like that would ever happen. Still, Tord cowered a little for effect, as Tom rolled his eyes. He was sure last night’s panic attack would make that believable. Way to demonstrate to yourself that you’re still powerful, Larsson. The pity…

The sooner he got out of here, the better.

“I got you some antibiotics. Here. Do you need a cup of water?.” Edd passed Tord a packet of pills.

“…yeah, please.” Thinking about it, he wasn’t sure how many days it had been since he’d ate or drank anything. He kinda wanted pizza. Ooh, or pasta. Tord had a weak spot for Italian food.

As he opened the packet, he could feel Tom trying not to stare. At first, he tried using his teeth. Nope. Eventually, what worked was jamming it awkwardly between his knees and using his legs to balance it while his hand worked to remove the tablet sheet and then the pill.

All, of course, to have it drop to the floor. 

“Ugh!”

“Um. Do you want me to pick that up?” What, no. Tom should be giggling. Tord wished Tom was giggling. Instead, he just looked kind of… guilty? 

“What are you looking at? Fuck off.”

Perhaps he should feel guilty, Tord realised as he glared at Tom. After all, it was Tom that had reduced him to this. Let him suffer a little, at least. The effort it took to bend down and get the pill was worth it, and by then Edd had returned with water and something that looked suspiciously like a pastry. 

“I got you this. Don’t worry Tom, you have one too. Where’s Matt?”

“We should be starving him until he tells us what we want to know!” Tord rolled his eyes and picked up the pastry, biting into it hungrily. Apple. Heaven. If only there was coffee, he could block all this shouting out and pretend he was still in his office, plotting. There’s absolutely nothing in this world like plotting.

Instead, he settled for grinning at Tom as he laid back on the couch, feet up.

“What do you want to know? I’m an open book.”

“You are the exact opposite,” quipped Edd. “What I want to know, Tom, is where Matt is.”

“His room, probably! What does it matter?”

“Just wanted to tell him about the apple turnovers. He loves those things.”

“Only because you told him they have zero calories.”

“Did the trick, didn’t it? Scooch, Tord, I’m tired of standing up all the time.” 

“And you call me a liar…” Tord muttered under his breath, but he moved in accordance, crossing his legs and tucking his feet underneath him.

“Edd!” Tom was still stood in front of the television. How annoying!

“What?”

“Don’t sit next to him! He could… stab you!”

I can do worse than that, Tord thought. For some reason, though, he found himself reluctant to. Maybe, just a little, he was enjoying the old group dynamic. 

“Don’t be ridiculous, he doesn’t have a knife. Tord, please could you pass me the remote control?” He reached over the side of the sofa, balancing his plate precariously on the arm of it. 

Escape, he reminded himself. You need to get to somewhere where you can formulate a plan. However enticing it was when Edd treated him like a normal person, or Tom’s face filled with hatred at the slightest glimpse of him, he had to stay focused.

“Catch, Edd.” Tord aimed at his head, but missed entirely, watching as the control flew out the window, probably killing a few birds or at least maiming a drone.

“What the shit, Tord! That’s a new remote. Tom, turn the television off.” Edd ran to the window, mouth open, and Tord took the opportunity with all the energy he had. 

He just about got to the door when he felt a hand grab his shirt, stopping him in his tracks.

“Ugh.”

“I told you, Edd! He’s unstable. We should tie him up!”

“Very kind of you to talk about me as though I’m not here.” Escape in sight, and here he was again. Turning quickly, he aimed his fist straight for Tom’s eye, smirking when Tom gasped at the impact.

“Tord!”

“That’s it!” Recovering quickly, Tom barrelled into Tord’s shoulders, shoving him against the door behind. Pain immediately ricocheted through his shoulder, bringing black spots to his vision and causing him to groan involuntarily as Tom switched his hands to Tord’s neck, depriving him of speech and oxygen. “I don’t care how injured you are, you deserve this and more!” Tom drew back his arm, and Tord braced himself for an impact, wishing he had the energy to fight back and cursing a weakness he was still familiarising himself with.

From the darkness, instead, came a sniffle.

“I’m not normal anymore, Tord. I don’t know if I’ve grown up or what, but I can’t take any joy in seeing you suffer! I worried about you yesterday, even though I know I shouldn’t have.”

What?

“You know, I’ve had panic attacks like that every night since. I can’t sleep. Every time I let myself drift all I see is that robot, falling. I thought I’d killed you!”

Tord cracked open an eye he didn’t remember closing to see one of the most pitiful scenes he could possibly imagine.

Tears welled in Tom’s eyes red blotches covered his face. Shit, thought Tord.

He wanted to laugh.

That was a lie. Tord wanted to bury himself deep in the ground and never return. 

Shit, thought Tord again.

“I’m not a killer. But I could be. And now… now you’re here again, and my instinct is to hurt you like I hurt you last time. You deserve it.” Tom looked away, caught his breath. “But we don’t deserve to suffer. Edd trusts you too much, and either you’re going to earn that this time or I’ll make sure he never tolerates you again. Are you listening?”

Behind Tom, amongst a scene that was fading to a blur, Edd looked very panicked. 

“Tom, you’re strangling him-“

“Are you listening?!”

Tord nodded, and Tom released his grip, allowing him to fall to the floor in an ungraceful heap, throat screaming as he coughed out his lungs.

“Tom, you can’t- come back! Tom, please!”

Just breathe, Tord, he told himself, as Edd raced to the door. 

Breathe.

“You can’t get home that late every night,” he heard faintly. “Just stay. We have alcohol here! Why do you feel the need to go out like you do?”

“You can’t tell me what to do, Edd. We’re not kids anymore, and I’m doing best to respect your decisions here, but I need space, okay? Let Matt take my shift.”

He’d done this. He’d wanted to, and he still despised Tom with every fibre of his being. But not this Tom. There was a fine line between anger and despair, and it looked like Tom had crossed it.

What a disappointment, he thought. Ugh.

That’s the end of that rivalry.

“….Tord? Tord? Can you hear me?” Blinking, he took inventory. Edd, concerned and crouching. Tom gone, shoulder pounding, eyes wet. 

“Is he okay?” That was Matt, who’d appeared at some point apparently. “What’s going on? Has Tom gone out again?”

Edd nodded almost imperceptibly. Was that fear?

“I’m worried about him,” said Matt quietly. He rubbed his arm distractedly, looking toward the door. “We should go find him.”

“We can’t. Or maybe… Tord, you with us?”

“Yeah,” he croaked, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. Edd sighed in relief. Stop panicking. Calm down, assess.

Calendar with Matt’s face on. Was it May already? In the photo, Matt wore only a bath towel, sitting on what appeared to be a unicycle as he rode past buildings Tord recognised as part of the adjacent street to the old house. Weird. To the left of it, he spotted a rota scribbled in crayon: Tord Watch. It was Tom’s turn. How negligent.

Tord hid a smile at the ridiculousness of it all. Like he was some wild animal, and these pathetic, strange people were his keepers. No, all was still in his favour. If he could simply leave the house, he’d be halfway to his escape, and here an opportunity was presenting itself to him.

His mental weakness was doing wonders for his diminishing reputation, and he hoped that in turn Edd would learn to underestimate him. Maybe he could tolerate pity if it led to profit.

At least, amid all this chaos, nobody was asking him any questions.

“Tom shouldn’t have done that, I’m sorry about him. He’s just found it hard since the whole… robot thing.”

“Is that an excuse for nearly suffocating me?”

“Yes!” replied Matt. Ginger bastard.

“No! Maybe,” said Edd. “But he still shouldn’t have done it.”

Tord narrowed his eyes. Caught himself. Put on a slightly scared, slightly disappointed frown.

“And how are you going to make it up to me?”

Edd glanced at Matt, as if checking for approval. Matt looked at the ceiling.

“How do you fancy a day trip to the pub?”


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a lot happens in this one. good luck

“I just can’t stand the guy! At all. Like, I just feel repulsed when I look at him.”

It had started a few years ago, maybe closer to several. You know how it is.

‘I’m drinking tonight because I deserve it. I’ve worked all day and this is the one opportunity I have to relax.’

This is the kind of thing most people tell themselves as they float into oblivion, downing quadruples as they watch Coronation Street or Eastenders. They’ll have two or three drinks and then collapse into bed, thankful that tonight they won’t have to dream about work before they even fall asleep. And then they’ll do it again. And again.

Tom had never liked soap operas, and maybe that was the difference, because it was well before seven and he was on his fifth drink already, only an hour in. Soon, he’d be onto his back up flask.

“Stupid Tord and his stupid coming back and not being dead and maybe being worse than dead,” Tom muttered to himself as he attempted to empty the final dregs of the alcohol into his mouth. He was almost sure he’d got it all and he probably looked stupid, but there was only one way to know.

“Tina, get away!” Tom looked around wearily.

“I want to give the homeless man my pocket money!”

“I’m not homeless,” retorted Tom. “I’m just sat here.” There was no way he could possibly look homeless. He’d washed this hoodie last week!

Tom watched, only half interested, as the girl was dragged away, her mother resorting to carrying her as she hurried away in a panic. How rude. Maybe he couldn’t afford the steep prices the local pub (The Mosquito) charged, but that didn’t make him any of a lesser man. The niche in the wall of the town hall felt more appropriate anyway, hidden as it was to most behind a field of apple trees. Every so often, at the pub, a woman would try to talk to him. Here, thankfully, it was mostly only the sheep.

Speaking of sheep, wasn’t he in the middle of a conversation?

“Yup, Roberto, that’s just what I was telling you. I shot the guy with a harpoon and he’s still trying to crawl his way back into my life. Hmm? You think I should give him one last chance?”

“Baa.” The sheep’s eyebrows were raised, and that may have been concern. Tom interpreted it as such. In reality, Roberto was wondering when this conversation would end.

“Well, you’re wrong! I should have given him one less chance, and then we wouldn’t be in this mess. Wait, is that-“

Across the field, under the canopy of the fruit shop: three figures. Heading toward the pub. Correct heights, colour coordination… armlessness.

Who let Tord outside?

Since Tom was barely buzzed, he decided that maybe he’d spy on them, see what was going on. Inconspicuously, like. 

Standing, he moved quickly toward them.

And tripped down the stairs and straight into the grass, and specifically into quite a sharp stone that met with his forehead. Ow, he thought. Then nothing.

-*-

Tord glanced in the mirror as they left, and what he saw was… not ideal. He quickly looked away, and toward the floor.

Wimp, he thought immediately. If anything, you should be proud of your scars. You got them fighting for what was yours. 

Then: you lost it. You lost it all. The army, the robot, the world. 

“And now you are stuck with these idiots…”. Edd had one hand on the door handle, the other checking he’d packed enough cans of cola in the duffel bag perched on what apparently passed for the dining room table. It was definitely more of a bedside cabinet in Tord’s eyes/ And Matt, well-

“I can hear you mumbling about us being idiots. I’m like three feet away,” said Matt.

Tord laughed under his breath, not even sparing him a look, but he knew that behind him Matt was layering up on coats, because ‘you can never be too careful, and you can always take it off but you can’t put it on if you’ve left it at home!’. Classic bit of wisdom from his grandmother, he had said.

“I know. I just didn’t think that intelligent life had invaded planet Matt yet.”

“I have no response to that.”

“I know.”

“Matt, lend Tord one of those or he’ll be freezing… I think I just need one more of these and we’ll be good to go.” Edd headed into the kitchen, leaving the bag open for Tord to count what already appeared to be seven cans. 

“Ugh, Tord this, Tord that. Still not sure who you are! But here-“-Matt held out one of his jackets toward Tord- “-that’s the ugliest one.” Tord ignored that.

“Pfft, I don’t need this, the cold here is nothing compared to Norway. What is it? Ten degrees? Boiling!”

Matt checked his phone.

“Wow, yeah, exactly! Are you a human thermometer?”

“I think I finally have enough!” Triumphantly, Edd returned, another four cans in hand. “Alright, ground rules. No wandering off. You see Tom, you shout, and if you don’t see Tom, you… talk at the average volume!”

“Incredible pep talk,” said Tord, who was almost definitely going to wander off. “Now can we leave already?” He tried to cross his arms, then remembered and put his hand on his hip.

Edd rolled his eyes.

“Yes, I just hope this doesn’t turn out to be a terrible idea.”

-*-

It was a terrible idea, and the whole thing ended in the worst way it possibly could have.

Matt wasn’t sure, when he looked back on it, why exactly Edd couldn’t have just left Tord with him when he left to find Tom, but he supposed it was something to do with the fact that, as it turned out, Tord kept two knives in each of his boots. 

It had all seemed positively peachy when they entered the pub, even boringly mundane, from the fourth tier football game on the tiny television screen above the bar to the woman using her snooker cue as a crutch while she fought not to fall over.

“Admirable,” quipped Tord. “This Morning hasn’t even finished.”

“Isn’t it Rylan presenting today? I love his beard. I kind of want one!”

“That’s a questionable fashion choice, Matt,” said Edd. “I can’t see him, can you?”

“I’ll check the events ro-“ Tord was already walking off when Edd grabbed him by the wrist.

“No you won’t. Or if you do, I’m coming. Matt, ask around, see if anyone has spotted him. It’s not like he’s easy to miss.” 

“On it boss!”

“Urgh,” Tord moaned as Edd dragged him off.

Matt walked off towards some people, then checked behind. As soon as Edd was gone, he walked toward the bar and planted himself on one of the stools.

If his feet needed a rest, what could he say? Someone had been taking up the main sofa.

“What can I do you for?” The bartender was tall, dark, handsome, and unfortunately quite old. He also had a cockney accent, which made his words quite baffling. Ever unphased, Matt shook this off.

“One packet of your finest bacon flavoured crisps please.”

“That’ll be eighty pence.”

Matt handed it over and took a few moments to think about the impact of inflation, a true tragedy of the people. Those used to be thirty pence! In this country, Matt thought to himself, the cogs of the capitalist machine were oiled with the blood of the workers, and therefore a revolution was the only thing that could stop the progressive deaths of the poor.

Weren’t the walls a nice colour? Blue. Just like the sky on days when the humidity hit and the birds chirped in the garden and anything but relaxation became a chore. Matt wished that England could have days like this more often. 

“Here’s your crisps, partner.”

“Oh, thank you. Uh. Um…”

What was it Edd had said to do? Ask a question? 

“Oh. Oh! Have you seen my friend Tom? Spiky hair, no eyes, probably falling over a lot?”

“Are you being funny?” asked the bartender.

“…I’m not, and I dread to ask why you’d think so.”

The man gestured towards the seating area, where Matt was surprised to see a crowd of guests. Last time he’d checked, he was sure only around three people lived in this town! And why were they wearing sunglasses inside?

Wait a second…

Tourists?

“They’re from the school for the blind in Arctenchy. They’ve been stealing my snooker cues and using them as canes! Rascals, I tell ya.”

“Dang nabbit,” he added as an afterthought.

Matt had already wandered off.

Maybe, he thought, I’ll check the toilets. This turned out to be the worst idea of them all.

-*-

“Boring. All of this is boring. I do not want to play bingo and I most certainly do not want to participate in the raffle.” Tord thrust the tickets back toward the woman and plonked himself down into a very old and very green chair.

“Don’t be mean to Sheila!”

“What a lovely accent,” said Sheila. “I just wish you had the manners to go with it, duck! Maybe Janice will know where your friend is.”

“Bingo starts in one minute,” shouted the caller.

Sheila pivoted on her heel and strutted off. Now, imagine that but with a ninety year old woman as your focus and you’ll get somewhere close to what actually happened. In any case, she still left Tord with a cold dread and the feeling that she had won, but he shook it off easily.

“Tord! Sheila is an old family friend! What if she bans me from the Christmas party?” Edd sat next to him, head in hands in worry.

“What a shame that would be.”

Edd sighed.

“Janice is the only person we haven’t asked, and if she hasn’t seen Tom, I don’t know who will have.” 

“Have you ever thought that maybe he might not have come here?” Tord had thought this for the past forty minutes, but up to now had been looking for an opportunity to leave. Unfortunately, there was none. Unless…

Edd glanced toward him in shock.

“What do you mean? This is his favourite pub. Wait.” He narrowed his eyes. “Is this a ruse? Do you have some kind of plan?” 

Edd was still admirably smart.

“What! No,” exclaimed Tord, raising a hand in defence. “I am just, to reiterate, incredibly bored and ready to leave this hell.”

“Hellllloooooo ladies! It’s Groovie Gaz, the man who puts the Go in Bingo! If you haven’t got a ticket, make your way outside to our bar area, just through the corridor. That goes for you two… males, over there. Scoot.”

Scoot? The man was around forty, dressed in a pink suit and a purple bow tie. Disgusting. Tord felt a sudden anger at the man.

“We’re going,” said Edd.

“What about Janice, though?” said Tord.

“What about me,” said Janice, from across the room. Remarkable hearing for someone so old. “Oh, are you here to deliver my Avon package, love?”

“Tord I swear.”

“Groovie Gaz, was it? How are you, my friend? We’ll be out of your way in a minute. We just really need to talk to Janice.”

Groovie Gaz laughed. The cheek!

“If you haven’t paid for a ticket, there’ll be no loitering. Do you want me to call security, young man?”

Edd was doing that thing again, where he tried to drag him out the room. Edd was failing.

“Now, Gareth, I would like my Avon package.”

“You don’t even care about Tom. Come o-“

“Yes, I’d love that. I’ll wait for them.” 

“I knew this was a ruse!”

Tord saw the man pick up his phone and watched in satisfaction as his hand shook, just slightly. The old women, or the ones that weren’t senile yet at least, were scandalised.

“Don’t do that!” Edd waved his arms to get his attention. “We’re gonna leave right now, I promise. Don’t call security!”

“He’s right, this is just a misunderstanding.”

The muscles in Edd’s face worked overtime as he tried to suppress any hope that arose from hearing this statement, and instead started looking for heavy things he could swing.

“Hello, security? We have a hooligan in the bingo room, I believe he may be dange-“

The man stopped abruptly as Tord snatched the phone from his hand, unplugged it and threw it across the room. Across the room, Edd stumbled across a large door labelled ‘cricket cupboard’.

“Oh come ooon, that’s not necessary. I’ll be quick. Actually, Janice, I’m not here to deliver your Avon package. I’d probably have a little box if I did!” Tord giggled, then assumed a serious, caring expression. “No. I’m actually here to tell you that I’ve seen Sheila with your husband.”

Sheila gasped audibly. Behind her, Edd approached, careful to avoid Tord’s gaze, dodging behind posts and tables. In the bathroom, twenty metres away, Matt was screaming, but nobody heard this because they were all slightly deaf. 

“It’s not true!”

“My husband’s been dead fifteen years!” said Janice.

“Oh,” said Tord. Plan thwarted. At least he still had the security distraction.

How else does one start a fight? Tord glanced around the room for inspiration, and spotted Edd, who was, for some reason, rolling around on the floor, trying to remain inconspicuous with a cricket bat.

Why hadn’t Tord thought to use bats?

“Brilliant idea, Edd! Hit Sheila!”

“I was being sneaky! How did you see me?”

“With my eyes? Quick, get at it!”

“I am not hitting Sheila with a cricket bat! I was going to hit you!”

“Duh. Hit Sheila instead or I’ll kick Matt in the face later.”

“What! No you won’t. You’re a public embarrassment! She’ll never invite me over for Christmas no-“

“THERE’S A CYBORG IN THE TOILET! HetriedtoshootmewithhislasereyesandIthinkhe’sgoingtokillusallHELP!”

The whole room went silent, gaze locked on one very shaken man who had broken the door bursting in. Matt was still talking, hyperventilating and barely standing up. 

“There was- this FLASH and I thought-“ he took a break to suck in air- “I thought it was the lights! You know- they sometimes…” Panting, he gestured vaguely to the ceiling. “Break! But it was a LASER and he’s still OUT THERE and oh my God I’m far too young to die! Edd do something!”

Edd hit Tord with the cricket bat.

“…sorry, what?”

“How did that help!”

“I don’t know! Come on, help me drag him out of here before Gaz realises he can plug the phone back in.”

When security arrived twenty seconds later (they were very slow) they found the bingo room entirely back to normal, with no hooligan to be found.

-*-

“What a failed search,” lamented Edd, pouting.

“At least they still let us buy beer,” said Matt.

“Only if we sat on the doorstep! Outside. But I bet they wouldn’t mind if I just nipped to the toilet.”

“That’s dangerous! I told you what happened in there. He’ll get you and then I’ll have to carry Tord home all by myself.”

“And Tom if you find him on the way!”

Matt’s eyes widened.

“You’re an even worse friend than I was giving you credit for!”

“Shh, okay? I’ll be five minutes. Just stay here.”

With that, Edd left Matt in the cold, and increasingly dark, beer garden, sipping his beer and watching Tord, who was awake and thought this might be the perfect opportunity to escape. Matt quickly became distracted with the path of a spider on the wall, and Tord began to edge toward the exit.

“I have peripheral vision. Stop crawling.”

“Forgive me for wanting to find the nearest doctor to tend to my concussion,” said Tord, balancing on a step as he rose and kicked Matt in the face.

“Ouch! What the- Tord!”

But Tord was already running off, or at least quickly limping off. Right up to the gate, where what he saw across the road made him stop in his tracks. A figure, shrouded beneath the tree branches, staring right at him. 

Shit. They’d come for him, just as he had known they would.

Turning around may have been hopeless, but it was all he could think to do, so he ran back into the pub and toward the other door, which was… somewhere?

It’s hard to think after somebody hits you that hard in the head. 

“When we came in,” he muttered to himself, “we passed the bar and the toilets on our way to the function room.” Tord looked around for signs. “Where’s the bar?”

Then on the wall in broken neon lettering: toilets. Thank God! Tord ran toward them with a speed only a man running from his history could muster, dodging three blind school children and more drunk people than he could count on the way. Finally, he got to the entrance, only to find it was a different toilet.

“Gah, why is this pub so big?!”

He was about to turn around when the door opened straight into his face. Tord fell backwards, sure that this was where it all ended, only to be shocked, when he finally opened his eyes, to see a familiar face.

“Tord! Cyborg! Go!”

“Huh?”

“Matt wasn’t lying! Get up already, we need to get out of here!”

Edd tried to drag him up, but Tord gravitated toward the door. Cyborg. That was… interesting. Maybe he could incarcerate and conduct research on the individual.

“What are you doing!”

“I just really need the toilet.” Tord was a very bad liar, and Edd, who had kept the bat, rose it again. 

Thankfully, just that moment, a few things happened. Firstly, the door opened again, and a hand darted out to grab Edd, who still faced Tord exasperated. Before Tord could even think to warn him, Edd had been dragged back to the other side of the door. Secondly, the fire alarm went off. 

Tord was having second thoughts about capturing the cyborg. Things were hard with one hand, and this fire alarm would provide the perfect escape method.

His legs weren’t moving, though.

“Aaaa you don’t care about him! You don’t! He was just about to hit you again!”

Move, legs! Go! Behind the door, Edd screamed.

He did save your life though, Tord thought. You owe him one favour. Just one. Then that’s it and you can leave, lead the rest of your life in Italy or Mexico or Papua New Guinea.

“Ugh!”

Tord pushed open the door, tentatively at first. Behind it, he saw the last thing he expected. Nothing. Checking each stall, he was shocked to find the same. No hair out of place, no windows open. Not even one drop of blood. 

Needless to say, he was very confused.

The only evidence of anything having occurred here was a slip of paper on the floor. Leaning over, Tord picked this up and read its message.

‘Help Me. 

Tom.’

“Well that’s just even more confusing.”

“What’s confusing,” said Matt, who enjoyed appearing out of nowhere, and destroying crime scenes by bleeding all over them. His nose was a mess, and Tord cringed slightly at the sight.

“Be careful! Edd has disappeared somewhere and I can’t figure out where. The… cyborg, got him.”

“What! Why did you let that happen!”

“Me! I was trying to stop him!”

Matt raised his fist, swung at Tord’s remaining working eye. Flesh never connected with… eye flesh, because just as Matt was about to reach his target, he slipped and toppled toward the floor, head first.

Tord waited, eyes closed, to hear the slam of Matt’s head on the ground, but found he never did. When he looked again, Matt was gone.

“Oh.”

That was when Tord first became aware of the portal that was disguised as the third tile from the left away from the hand dryer.

When the door opened seconds later, it became the first time he took his chances with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi!! i went to france. it was bad. how are you?


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> please don't let the mild frenchphobia distract you from the fact that i updated

Portals are weird, which you’ll know if you’re familiar with them. Most people picture some kind of whirlwind of colour, maybe a gradient of deep purples or luminous oranges. In reality, most standard, store bought portals are just lined with black on the inside. It’s the cheapest colour. Pay a little more and you can get a few stripes maybe, but Pedro Flores, the designer of this portal in particular, hadn’t quite got to Stripes 101 yet. He needed to pass core classes like Void Safety first.

Hence it follows that this portal was rather boring, and Matt actually fell asleep temporarily within it. Tord, on the other hand, spent his time in the portal aware that if its engineer had made one mistake, he could disintegrate at any second. Tord was quite familiar with portals. Thankfully, it appeared that Pedro had done a nice job with this one. He’d pirated most of the code.

The first thing Tord became aware of, after what seemed like an eternity with the void, was Matt’s incessant moaning. The portal, as far as he was aware, had disappeared.

“A field! I was in a toilet and now I’m in a field. How does that work? It’s all his fault, that Tor- oh, you’re here!”

Matt hit him in the face, and Tord stumbled backwards into a tree, clutching his cheek.

“What the shit, Matt!”

“Glad I didn’t fall into some kind of portal this time!” Tord had noticed that Matt seemed to hyperventilate when he was anxious or scared. That was going to get annoying.

“You deserved it! I was trying to rescue Edd, and all you could think about was the past.”

“…two minutes ago is not ‘the past!’ and you shouldn’t kick people,” yelled Matt. “I knew Edd shouldn’t have let you back into the house. Tom was right. I should have helped him.”

“Helped him…?”

“Push you off a roof! Or something. Something less violent maybe. Is your cheek okay? No wait, don’t think I hate you any less.”

Tord laughed and pushed himself up, taking stock of the situation. This called for clearing his head. Matt had been correct: this was a field. Frankly, as far at Matt went that was brilliant reasoning. Specifically, it looked like a barley field, and it ran parallel to a main road, with terraced houses lining its opposite side. The miniscule town hall next to the block of houses suggested that this constituted a small village. Nice and rural, Tord thought. Great.

“This can’t get any worse.” 

Maybe he could ask around for directions. Or- was that a road sign over there?

“We could be dead, I guess. That portal was quite fun! Like a slide.” Matt perked up when he remembered all the tingling (a sign, usually, that the portal designer hadn’t allowed for gingers). “…but also Edd’s gone and my face is ruined.”

“Hmm? Oh, your face is ruined? Would you like to swap?” If Tord was a little snappy, it was for good reason.

Matt considered it.

“Nope.” 

“Thanks, Matt.”

“You’re not welcome.”

“Now do you want to continue to pout, or would you like to hear my plan?”

Matt wanted to pout, but he’d also like to go home and watch Call the Midwife. He settled for crossing his arms.

“If it’s a good plan I guess I’ll hear it.”

“I’m going to go look at that road sign over there, see where we are, and ask some locals if they’ve seen Edd or the cyborg. You’re going to stay as a lookout here, to see if the portal pops back up. Do you have my number?”

“Shouldn’t I go so you don’t scare them away?”

“You’d get lost, and also no anyway, because if you mention my face one more time you won’t be able to go anywhere because I will cut you into fifty pieces and bury you in fifty separate ditches.” To punctuate this threat, Tord held up a knife. It glistened in a sunlight that was… kind of familiar. 

“Wow.” Matt took a step backwards. “Um. Uh. Fine! I’ll stay.” Trying to settle into it, he sat by a tree, stroking the grass.

“Thought so.”

“But! Question.”

“Shoot,” said Tord, who maybe had been watching too much American television from hospital recently.

“Portals. Will our phones work? What if we’ve time travelled? Or we’re in a different dimension?”

Tord shrugged.

“You’d have to be an incredible portal engineer to integrate elements that were not simply spacial. But I guess it’s possible. Highly unlikely.”

Matt bit his lip, looked up.

“How do you know about things like this? I mean portals.”

“I’ve made a few. They didn’t work. Can I go now?” Tord made to move off, checking his cheek in his phone camera to make sure it wasn’t still bleeding. Matt grabbed Tord’s shirt, a desperate look in his eye.

“Wait! Do you think maybe Tom is here too?”

“Uh… I think so, yeah.” Tord didn’t want to show Matt the note, because he knew Matt. If he panicked at all, that was the end of everything, wherever they were. Things didn’t go well when Matt was angry. Current situation being a case in point.

“You think so?”

“…anyway! If I’m not back in twenty minutes, I’m probably dead. See you later.”

“We’ll find them, right? Edd and Tom?”

“Yeah, course we will.” Tord didn’t know why he said that. “They can’t have wandered far into the countryside. It’ll be fine.” Other than the cyborg, Tord thought. And the note. And the fact that neither Edd or Tom had contacted them since they had gone missing. He checked his phone once more and was disappointed to find no calls.

Disappointed?

This felt weird.

-*-

Tom, counting leap years, was unconscious for a sum total of half an hour, which is just enough time to, say, terrorise a bingo hall and scare some old ladies with a cricket bat. Not that anyone would ever do that, and nobody is suggesting you do it either.

Somehow, hitting his head had sobered Tom up a good amount, and now he was almost out of vodka. Checking his pockets, he found a crumpled five-pound note, which might just be enough if he convinced the woman at the corner shop that he’d pay her the remaining sum later. Clarisse always came through for him, she was a star.

But- wait. Why had he hit his head?

Tom thought and thought and reached one conclusion. Tord. Not that he remembered anything specific, but the timing was too strange to be a coincidence. And there was an image in the back of his mind of three figures moving toward… toward…

The Mosquito!

If he’d dared to touch that linguistically confused bartender, Tom thought, he’d have to kill Tord. There was no other option. Sheila, on the other hand, was expendable. That woman was scary, and Tom reflected that world happiness would probably improve if she was dead. There was probably a moral obligation to commit an act like that.

Tom walked briskly toward the pub, checking his watch with curiosity. Eleven am BST, on the dot. So the bingo had just finished, he supposed, and Gaz was probably taking a break before the 70s disco at eleven thirty. What could Tord be doing there? Hijacking the song list? Changing the sign to ‘Tord’s Pub’? Nothing was too nefarious when it came to him. Tom shuddered to think of the consequences on his favourite place.

When he reached the pub, though, all seemed okay. The sign was on and well oriented, and there was no screami-

He’d spoke (thought, again) too soon. That was some screaming, and if he wasn’t mistaken it was Edd’s.

Tom ran toward the entrance, and that was when he saw Him, stood over what looked like a body. Tord. Tom thought he made eye contact, glared, pleaded, but for all he knew perhaps the foliage hid him. At any rate, Tord bolted immediately, and Matt (otherwise known as The Body, who thankfully was not dead) was quick on his heels.

Tom did some mental maths as he tried to catch up. If Tord and Matt were outside, and Edd was nowhere to be seen, then who had him? What had his friends got themselves into?

Dodging day drinkers by the bar, Tom took a sharp left. If his bet was correct, Tord was heading toward the only place he could to the right: the toilets. If Tom took the other entrance, he’d be there first to assess the situation before anything went wrong. Well, anything else. 

They’d already adopted a mass murderer.

“Boy howdy,” said Richard, returning from the stock room with another box of crisps.

“Can’t talk now!” 

Richard looked disappointed, but in a cowboy kind of way.

Tom took a deep breath and barrelled into the toilet, only to come face to face with Edd being manhandled, attempting to hit his attacker with a bat.

“Tom! Help!” There was something odd about the man, and it wasn’t just the robotic quality to his movements. Everything about him was so similar. The hair, even from behind; his gait; the tone of his muscles. What was it? Tom watched, frozen, as Edd was dragged toward the sink, toward a fate undeterminable and so all the more terrifying.

“What are you waiting for!” screamed Edd. “Hit him!” 

When the man turned, Tom saw what it was almost immediately. It was like looking into a mirror. It was him, dressed bizarrely (yes, more than usual) but him all the same, down to the last hair. He wondered about the goggles, though. They looked futuristic, digital, severe. Was this Tom ashamed of his eyes? Maybe.

Tom felt. Confusion, mainly, but also fear. He was strangely at ease though, in the face of a sight that should panic him. When the man grabbed him, it felt weirdly normal. Future Tom had to do what’s best for him, right? 

CyberTom, as we’ll call him, felt nothing. This wasn’t part of his designated feeling time. No, he had an hour a day to purge his emotions and that hour was spent screaming to be released. Naturally. 

By the time Tord entered, as we have seen, the three had gone. Tord did not spot the cricket bat behind the second exit, mainly because he’d already fallen into a portal before he could check it.

Groovy Gaz found it when he came in- bravely- to kick Tord out, and thought his work done, the weapon abandoned. The rest of the day at The Mosquito was calm and happy, and Gaz danced more times than usual in the disco, feeling rather proud of himself and his actions.

-*-

The rest of Tom’s day was spent in a dungeon.

“Why didn’t you hit him,” said Edd again, picking at mould on the wall he slouched against. Edd had been rather quiet and moany since they’d arrived at wherever they were. He was trying his best not to explode in anger. Not at Tom, particularly, but maybe at other Tom, and definitely at Tord who seemed, by simply being present, to bring about such events.

“Look, we’ll be fine, okay? We’ve been through worse before.” 

“No, we haven’t!”

“We have! Don’t you remember the time those cannibals caught us and tried to teach us French? Awful language, awful people.”

Edd sighed, shutting his eyes in annoyance.

“That’s xenophobic, Tom.”

“They were cannibals! And not even culinarily inclined ones. You’d think with all the Michelin stars in that country they could have cooked us something edible up. But no!”

“They were low on herbs. They lost their spice rack, remember?”’

“Of course, I remember, stolen by pirates in the Bermuda. But there wasn’t even any cayenne on it to start with. No taste, I tell you. Remember when they tried to chop off Matt’s leg? Matt, of all people."

“Matt is a perfectly nice person.” Edd knew that just because someone acted nice didn’t mean they would taste nice, but it was one of those things. You are what you eat, you taste how you act. Edd probably tasted of animation. Yum.

“Did he pay you to say that? Just because he’s not angry when he should be doesn’t make him nice. It makes him stupid.” 

“…weren’t you trying to cheer me up here, Tom?”

Tom reflected.

“Yep.”

“Nice job.”

“Ugh.”

-*-

“Hello? Yeah, hi.” Tord did his best smile, hoping it looked warm instead of creepy, like it usually did. “I love your bed and breakfast! Great decoration. I’m not actually from around here and was wondering if you could provide me with some directions? Or a map?”

The girl’s expression didn’t even change. 

“You’re in Norway. I’m assuming you came through the portal? Tord, right?”

“Um. Yeah.” Tord thought he’d never heard such a strange set of words put together in all his life.

“You’ll be wanting the portal package. For only 600 Krone a night you’ll have access to our premium double room and a full Norwegian breakfast. We also throw in a free set of face towels.”

“I… never said I wanted to stay.”

“Buses run out of here at 8am each morning, so you have… a good eighteen hours before the next one. Unless you want to camp out.” The girl smiled. “The last Tord who did that froze to death.”

“Do you-“ Forming words is difficult when your mouth wont close. “Are you… Is-“

“No technical knowledge, no explanation, and no I don’t have a capacitor you can borrow if you’re going to ask that one again. I make minimum wage. You people are so fucking annoying sometimes I swear. I’m booking you in, right? Single or double?”

“…two singles?”

“Brilliant, finally. Oh, and you’ll want the 59 bus route. That’s the one you usually take!”

“Thanks.” Tord had a glance at the board behind her- now he thought about it, everything did seem to be in Norwegian. Unfortunately, it didn’t look like Edd had been here, and the only other occupant was a man named Oskar.

“I don’t suppose you’ve seen-“

“Nope. Cash or card?”

It’s a shame you need two hands to strangle someone.

“Card, I guess.”

This was going to be a long eighteen hours.


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> matt and tord are far more similar than you think ya know

The hotel was appalling- its only lighting source seemed to come from tiny windows placed extremely high up on the walls, and apparently Norway was pretty dark at this time of year anyway. Matt also saw several rats while in the bath, but not to the point where he decided to get out. He’d seen many more rats in his short stint at the fashion college, and that was partially why he left. That, and the fact he was fired from the cleaning staff.

“Matt.” A loud knock on the door.

“This guy is the worst,” muttered Matt.

“Matt! I know you can hear me. What the hell are you doing in there? Tell me or I’ll assume you’re dead and I’ll have to come in.”

“Ugh! You know I’m in the bath!”

“You know it doesn’t take three hours! I need a shower.”

Three hours? Maybe he’d fallen asleep at some point. Or he could have some kind of worrying disease that made him lose random aspects of his memory. 

“Hey, Tord? Is there, like, selective amnesia? Is that a thing?” This was exactly like the time he spent four hours on the toilet, or the time he was driving that car and then in the hospital. “Wait, narcolepsy? That’s a thing!”

“Get. Out.”

“Fine.” When Matt stood up, he realised just how tall this bath was. Another hazard! If this was acclaimed television program The Hotel Inspector and Matt was Alex Polizzi, he’d be straight to the reception to give them a piece of his mind. From here, he could even see out the miniature window, which was even smaller up close. What he could see was beautiful- rolling hills, grass just a little greener than you could ever see in England. Matt wondered why Tord had ever left Norway.

Wait, what was that? The whole seen was kind of… frayed at the edges. Like a photograph.

Reaching forward and brushing the edge, Matt gasped. It WAS a photograph! Behind it was… the hotel bins. 

Now, Matt was angry. Thank God Tord had paid, or he’d be demanding his money back.

“Look at this!” Matt said when he’d returned to the living room. “It was stuck to the window. These hoteliers are deranged.”

“Hoteliers? You’re French now?”

“Sure hope not. Cannibals, all of them.”

“Right,” said Tord as he rudely, Matt thought, reached out and took the photo. “I mean, it’s very scenic. Idyllic? Is that a word? Anyway, I need a shower.” He put the photo down and walked past Matt, towel around neck.

“Don’t you want to ask for a refund? You probably could.”

“You know what I want?” Tord whizzed back round to face Matt. “I want to know what’s going on. The poor quality of this hotel means nothing! It’s normal! It’s not normal that there’s other versions of me, or that you spend hours in the bathroom, or that- that…”

“Are you getting narcolepsy too? Is it contagious? Breathe!”

“Breathing would not help that.” Tord snatched up the photo again. “There’s a note on this. From me.”

“From… another you?”

“Yeah… ‘get out of here while you still can- Tord’,” he read.

“Great! An unsettling note! I say we get another hotel-“

“I don’t think he means the hotel.” Tord sat down, running his hand slowly through his hair and refusing to look Matt in the eye. “I should tell you. This isn’t the first warning.”

“What?”

“Actually, it was a note from Tom asking for help. But it was right next to the portal. So, I assume that means…”

“That Tom’s definitely here too. And in trouble.” Matt felt his stomach drop. Tom was vulnerable- ever since his parents had died, he’d just gone from coping mechanism to coping mechanism. Although it was alcohol now, in the past he’d turned to sex, theft, arson. In the right circumstance, if you were manipulative enough, you could convince Tom to do anything.

“Yep. Or, at least, some other Tom. My theory is that the portal has some aspect that alters the dimensional state of the people who walk through it. Have you heard of the many worlds theory? It’s a quantum mechanical construction that…”

Matt blocked the rest of Tord’s speech out. Even if it wasn’t his Tom, his friends were suffering, and right now he was the only one in a position to help. That was a lot of responsibility. Tord, of course, looked like he was keeping it together, but even with his occasional tricks this wasn’t the man Matt had known before the crash.

He looked tired. And scared.  
What Tord needed was to feel like he was in control again, which was why Matt let him keep talking. Matt was a very kind person, even to murdering psychopaths.

“…so I think someone is trying to gather every version of us. Every me gets on this bus. It has to lead somewhere. Hopefully it’s to Edd.” Tord’s stare went blank. “If it’s not to Edd…”

“Do you ever come back?”

“What?”

“Do the other yous ever come back from the trip? What if someone’s killing every version of you? What if they’re destroying their own weaknesses so they can be the greatest Tord? We are in Norway, after all.”

“That’s ridiculous. I wouldn’t do that.” But as he spoke, Tord’s eyes widened, and his tone was more fearful than unbelieving.

“That’s what I’d do if I were the most powerful Matt. Just saying. We need a plan for the worst-case scenario. The one where Edd and or Tom were taken to lure you in, and then we all end up dead.”

Matt noticed Tord glaring at him, back to his usual act.

“Leave the plans to me. I’m going to be eight steps ahead of whoever we meet when we get to wherever we’re going, even if it takes me all night.”

In the end, they both stayed up all night, building a list of every possible scenario and discussing each course of action. The nicest scenario, where the bus led directly to their friends, only required an infinite knowledge of portal physics to solve. Trivial stuff if they could find an engineer. The toughest? That was more fun to plan for.

-*-

CyberTom spent five sixths of every day of his cursed life cleaning. For some reason, when he wasn’t a killing and kidnapping machine, he had to be some kind of butler, which he detested with his whole being. Cleaning silver candles until they shone got old quick, surprisingly, and although he’d always enjoyed hoovering, his boss unfortunately required that every floor was not vacuumed, but polished. As in with furniture polish.

Yes, they were very slippery.

Yes, it was extremely funny when they had some new visitor that didn’t know to wear non-slip shoes around the mansion and instantly preceded to deck themselves.

Of course, the Tords usually didn’t, because the Tords all knew that every respectable Tord liked a polished floor. It was the Matts and Edds and Toms that were hilarious. Not to mention the Swedish ambassador, who was actually a professional ice skater by night. That hadn’t helped him when he’d been up against the curse of polished stairs- his tragic and sudden death had made Sweden a fast enemy of the People’s Republic of Norway. Thankfully, Red Leader had conquered Sweden last year. Long live Red Leader. May his reign never end.

Sometimes, thought CyberTom as he cleaned the hundredth candle of the day, it was hard to differentiate the thoughts implanted in his head from his own. None of his actions were his, but if he tried hard enough he still had some idea of what the thoughts of the past Tom would be, and these were the ones he called real. Preserving a sense of self was important if he ever wanted to get out of here, and CyberTom truly did.

Matt, his Matt, had accepted his fate long ago, even without any ‘thought enhancement’. The man was Red Leader’s constant companion, and one of his best soldiers, by his side through every battle. The two made a great team; this had been a surprise at first.

When Tord had first recruited them, Tom had thought that neither of them would last the week. Tom spent every waking second that he wasn’t literally dying of alcohol withdrawal trying to escape, and Matt just wouldn’t stop crying. Or asking rhetorical questions.

“What if he’s killed Edd? What if he’s going to kill us? What if we’re clones of our original selves and we don’t even know it? What if you’re being sick because he poisoned you?! What if-“

Like that.

Honestly, sometimes CyberTom was glad he saw less of Matt now. That guy was getting to be very annoying toward the end, almost as if there was some kind of writing team change and he’d been stereotyped as the stupid one. It did hurt though, at times like the present, when Matt ignored him.

“So you’ve arranged the troops to strike Croatia? And you’re prepared to lose men?”

Croatia was one of the last European strongholds. In CyberTom’s opinion, this was due to their strategic positioning both by the Adriatic Sea and bordering many other countries that, for a time, held the Red Army off. The base in Budapest was just a little too far off, so the troops spent a lot of energy reaching the border. 

“Yes, sir. My air fleet is strategically crafted so that each of the key cities and each army outpost is targeted. Zagreb, Zadar, Split… I have men posted in Trieste and Novo Mesto as well as on the sea who are ready to strike as soon as the cities are destroyed. The parliament will be taken within hours.”

Matt was still Matt, Tom supposed. He’d made a PowerPoint, which was a very Matt thing to do- it had every location they planned to hit highlighted in red, and all their troop’s posts in green. As he changed the slide to one in which a cartoon of Red Leader stood over a cartoon of Dubrovnik, he suddenly froze.

At the other side of the table, Red Leader held up his hand. 

“You are prepared to lose men, yes?”

“Yes, sir. Anything to ensure that we take what’s rightfully ours.” Matt was visibly shaken and trying to hide it. Badly. Inexperienced fool.

It should be noted that CyberTom observed this conversation while looking entirely as if he was polishing the silverware in the corner. If Red Leader was ever to know that he still maintained his own thought process, everything would be over. 

“I don’t need to remind you that that should be your view on the situation. Keep it that way.”

“Yes, sir,” Matt said, and left quickly.

“He’s a good soldier,” remarked Red Leader as he left, “but not a perfect one, not like you.” Tom dared not look, but he was sure that the man’s smile was a proud one, a predatory one. A smile of only the most dangerous, a smile that conquered.

Simply put, the man was terrifying. Tom had certainly underestimated him at first, treating him like a damaged child. It was the way he’d looked, all injured and small- it had just seemed like this was some kind of power show, something to help him recover his former confidence.

Maybe it still was that, but it had all gone too far.

Red Leader always wore, you guessed it, red, even extending to a red eye patch. As far as Tom knew, only one person had ever once dared nickname him ‘pirate’, and they’d quickly lost both their eyes and then several other body parts. He always looked slightly amused but joking with him was off limits. It wasn’t written anywhere, but Tom himself, and many other soldiers, had seen Tord strangle a man one handed (the shiny red metal one) for telling a knock knock joke. 

Either the man hated humour or had a very particular taste in it. Safer to just stay away.

“Tom. Report. Was the capture of Edd from 78-X successful?”

CyberTom whipped around faster than he could prepare himself for it.

“The mission was a success, sir. Thomas 78-X was also apprehended, having been with Edward 78-X at the time of interception.”

Tord waved a hand. 

“Have him put to death. We have no need for any more Tom’s, I don’t have the funds to create an army of you yet. All the money we have…” The man stood up, kicking his chair back under the table, then, on second thought, readjusting it so the chair back was parallel to the edge. “…goes to our little portal project. For now.”

“Yes, Red Leader.”

“You know, Tom, sometimes I feel like you’re the only one who truly understands me. I can always talk to you. Matt still doesn’t know about our plans, and nor does Paul or Patryck. You’re my only confidant.”

Sad, Tom thought, that you have to control a person’s every move for them to be remotely likeable to you. Then he thought about kicking Tord to death. Then kissing his feet.

CyberTom hated mind control.

“Pleased to be of assistance, sir,” he said.

“Anyway, prepare for the arrival of Tord 78-X. Let’s hope he’s not as pathetic as his predecessors.”

“Right away, Red Leader.”

Tord had already turned away, walking toward the door. CyberTom closed his eyes and waited for the inevitable.

A squeak, then a crash.

“Nice job on the floor, Tom.”

Tom hoped one day Tord fell headfirst.

**Author's Note:**

> hey i'm matilda and you've been reading 'the double coup'. if you've enjoyed it, leave a comment! if not, leave an abusive comment. come round to my house and challenge me to single hand combat. whatever! i'm ready.


End file.
